


Just out of reach

by The_silent_smile



Series: Every day we crumble and build ourselves up again - Marvel one-shots [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad and Happy, Service Dogs, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Vomiting, mention of vomit, sad thor (marvel), thor (marvel) has ptsd - post traumatic stress disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 03:55:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_silent_smile/pseuds/The_silent_smile
Summary: He learned to live with his brothers cape always just out of reach.with stubbing his toe against the coffee table because he didn't like how the eye he had been given felt so he didn't wear it.With being swallowed by grief so much so that he sometimes had to run to the bathroom to vomit after waking up from a nightmare.Once he got her it started getting better. He still felt as if he would grumble and break down at any moment. But her soft fur and dark eyes helped him ground himself and feel just a bit more alive with every passing day.-Or-Thor gets a service dog





	Just out of reach

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger/Squick warning: mention of character death, Ptsd. Handicap due to past injuries (eye) grieving, mention of vomit.

He learned to live with the edge of his brothers cape always just out of sight.  
It had become almost like a family tradition, Loki would die, they would mourn, and he would come back. The time between when he did and when he was mourned over had always differed, every time a strand of his hair braided with his own or a symbol of his engraved into his armour.

And then he would come back, they would be mad for a moment before they would shower him with love, tears shed easily while he tried to hug him as hard as possible trying to piece their shattered relationship back together every time, trying to keep them together.

Though he was starting to believe this time he might actually be dead, the sound of his neck snapping haunting his dreams to this day, the loveless eyes and cold body still causing him to sit up with a cry of his name in the middle of the night, thunder roaring in the distance.

Time seemed to both slow and move faster then it had ever done as he watched how Stark ripped another page of the calendar in their shared livingroom. When another calendar appeared he didn't say anything, the old one now empty and lacking every single page it had contained when it was hung on the wall.

And he didn't say anything as two calendars turned into three and his brothers Cape was still out of reach.

And he didn't like how the new eye they had gotten him felt inside of the socket, it feeling unnatural and like it was irritating him, throwing him off, so he didn't wear it.   
He found the old eyepatch in the bottom of one of his drawers, putting it on felt odd like he had done this before. Maybe he had but this felt wrong, like last time he had felt whole and that the thing completing him was missing. But he put it on anyway and looked into the mirror.

It really did suit him.

But sight is a tricky thing. And he bumped into the coffee table and the fridge door more then he would admit. Overreaching for glasses that stood way closer then he had imagined them to be so much Stark told him he'd just buy a truck full of them each month.

So much that the other suggested he'd get help.

He'd heard about service dogs before. A lady on a train had had a dog with a vest a colour so bright it hurt his eye, he had asked what it meant and she had explained it to him, her voice friendly and seeming ever patient as she explained the dog (his name was Thor, which made the god chuckle and carefully ruffle the hairs on the dogs head after asking if that was alright to do)

The man that was currently working at the pet store was more than a little overwhelmed, that had become a normal reaction to the god these days.   
That's both Steve and Bruce had joined him was probably not helping the nervous employee who, stumbling over both his words and feet, led them towards the part of the shelter where they had housed their service dogs.

Her fur was soft and her eyes kind as she walked towards him, the now slightly less nervous guy quietly telling him she was a Bernese mountain dog, a curious sniff at his hand before her rough tongue licked the rougher palm.

The three others the boy brought out after her weren't the same.

So they took her home, the employee insisting they took her for free.   
They gave him enough to buy ten of her kind and told him to keep the rest as Thor carefully took the leash that was connected to the bright yellow vest into his hand and letting her lead the way. After only three minutes he clipped the leash of off the vest, letting her walk beside him. She kept close, though never too close to touch him or for him to trip or have to stop in his track.

As they got home he had already decided on calling her Sanaa.   
(an: it does, in fact, have a meaning thank you very much for noticing! Sanaa means 'piece of art' and is a Norse name)

She didn't like the vest he had her wearing so he didn't make her wear it, letting her walk with him freely, allowing people to pet her even though he had been told it could be distracting her from doing her job.

But Thor found he didn't need her to do her job as much as he needed her to be there for him as a friend.

And she protected him from night terrors and the edge of the coffee table.  
The night terrors becoming less terrifying when he found her licking his face until he awoke, nuzzling her wet snout against his cheek or neck, hot puffs of air grounding him to here and now as he let her climb onto the bed to curl up against his side and warm his lately always freezing body with hers.

And the coffee table becoming less dangerous as she made sure to always walk in front or beside him, actively giving him a nudge to take a step left or right or back or forth so his leg wouldn't be tortured by the cruel wood again.

And she would let him cry into her fur if he felt like vomiting out of grief, memories of lost family, bounded by blood or no, flashes of scenarios so realistic he found himself grabbing at his mouth to make sure no makeshift iron prison kept it shut so he wouldn't be able to take back the last words he had said to him as soon as he realised they would be his last. Her fur getting wet and smelling like wet dogs smell but she didn't mind as she gently kicked the hand that was within reach, making sure to only pull away when he was fully done or patting behind him worriedly as he rushed towards the bathroom to empty his stomach, a habit he had found hard to get away from when his mind went too far down.

And then they found a way back when three calendars turned into four.   
And he put in the eye again, ignoring how wrong it felt or how Sanaa whimpered when she saw him with it.

And when he came back home she was there waiting, letting out a small whimper as she saw how her friend seemed hurt, tired, like the weight of the entire world was resting on his shoulders.

And that wasn't true. They had brought everyone that had dusted back. But the weight of another friends death did. And the weight of waiting for ages watching how everyone else hugged and cried and laughed with their no longer lost once as he stood alone and waited for the green cape to no longer be out of reach. It never came closer. And he had learned to bottle up those emotions when yet another person he dared to call family fell.

But it had become too much, and he put the eyepatch back on and slid down the cream coloured wall next to the bathroom he had just walked out of.

And she sat down between his legs, standing up on two paws before letting her front once rest on his shoulders. Her form of a hug.

And he held her carefully but securely, sobs muffled into her fur as they had been for more times then he would like to admit.

But once again Sanaa didn't mind.

And she leaned against his chest as he paws slightly clung to his shoulders to keep her steady, her eyes dark, big, and friendly.

And she would stay like that until he lifted her paws from his shoulders and placing them on the floor.

And she would curl up next to him to replace the warmth he had lost on a spaceship now four years ago.

And she would lick his scared face until the hurt became less hurtful and he felt some sense of peace that he had fought for with all his might and an eye that felt wrong and a dog waiting for him to come home.


End file.
